


Too Busy Being Yours

by FascinationStreet



Series: Forget Yourself In Me [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids, Comeplay, Connor is a slut for Hank, Connor with a vagina, CyberLife (Detroit: Become Human), Fingering, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Sharing Clothes, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, a robopuss if you will, androids have no gender, gratuitous hockey references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 23:26:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15302358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FascinationStreet/pseuds/FascinationStreet
Summary: Connor folds himself onto the cushion next to Hank, pretending to be content with merely sitting next to him and not half on top of him like usual. Between him and Sumo, Hank will never get cold in the winter again. He lasts two minutes, which is impressive, before he starts wriggling backwards to lodge himself between Hank’s side and the back of the couch, forcing Hank to lift his arm up out of the way to lie across the top of the couch cushions.





	Too Busy Being Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: i've not played the game, just been dragged into DBH hell by my good and beautiful wife Rae who planned this with me at 3am and I love her v much for her enabling and encouragement. This is for u my sweet <3
> 
> There's not much context in the fic, other that it assumes that Jericho takes control of CyberLife to give androids agency over their own bodies/parts, which is how Connor gets his upgrade. I just want the androids to be able to choose the genitals they have ok.
> 
> It's intended to be part of a loosely-connected series, the rest of which has yet to be written but if people aren't put off by the robopuss revolution there will be more to come. I also refuse to believe this is the only fic where Connor has a vagina, please send more my way.

Hank has been waiting to get home all day for this. It’s the Stanley Cup playoffs and Detroit have not only made it for the first time since Hank can remember, maybe the late ‘20s he thinks, they’re in the conference fucking finals. It’s Game Two, against Toronto, and Detroit are leading the series so far. They might actually have a chance this year and Hank isn’t about to miss out on it for anything.

He rushes through dinner, ignoring admonitions from Connor about giving himself indigestion, and moves himself into the lounge to take up his spot on the couch, beer in hand. He’s worked hard on his spot, it’s taken him years to get it to mould properly to his body to provide optimum comfort at the expense of spinal support. He’s proud of it, no matter how many dirty looks Connor shoots at it when he thinks Hank isn’t watching.

Connor wanders in just before the puck drops for the start of the game after tidying up the kitchen and getting changed. He’s wearing Hank’s DPD sweater and not much else, the black of his boxer briefs peeking out from under the hem of the jumper when he walks over the to couch.

He hands Hank another beer, still sealed, and Hank accepts it with a grunt of thanks, placing it on the end table next to the beer he’s still working on. It’s his third of the night, and he knows that Connor won’t allow him to have any more after the one he’s just given him. 

It’s fine, he should probably start cutting down again anyway. He’s managed to wean himself off the whiskey for the most part, but there’s a bottle or two stashed around the house that Connor doesn’t know about in case of emergency. He has to admit though, it’s nice not waking up with a hangover every day of the week, instead he gets to wake up to Connor’s soft morning smile that’s just for him. He still gets the occasional hangover, he doesn’t think he could do his job anymore were it not for the sweet relief of a good strong drink, but he doesn’t rely on it to get him through the day anymore.

Connor folds himself onto the cushion next to Hank, pretending to be content with merely sitting next to him and not half on top of him like usual. Between him and Sumo, Hank will never get cold in the winter again. He lasts two minutes, which is impressive, before he starts wriggling backwards to lodge himself between Hank’s side and the back of the couch, forcing Hank to lift his arm up out of the way to lie across the top of the couch cushions. 

He looks tiny curled into his side, and very pleased with himself. He pulls the cuffs of the sweater over his hands to make sweater paws and settles down to watch the game. The ownership of the sweater had never been officially handed over to Connor but the only time Hank gets to wear it these days is after it’s been washed and Connor complains that it no longer smells of him. After a day or two of being forced into it as soon as he gets home from work it disappears again, only to magically grace Connor’s lithe form for the next few weeks before the process is repeated. 

It dwarfs him when he wears it, the sleeves puffing out over the cuffs where they’re far too long on his arms, the hem falling to mid-thigh and the neck exposing one of Connor’s delicate collarbones. He looks good enough in it that Hank never argues when he goes to look for it and finds Connor already wearing it. 

Connor asks him a few questions during the first period and Hank humours him with answers instead of asking why he doesn’t just download the Hockey Association rulebook for the hundredth time. Connor always just shrugs and continues to ask questions, so he figures he’s more concerned with the asking than the answers Hanks gives. It’s a good thing, because Hank had no idea how to explain hybrid icing back in the day and he sure as shit doesn’t understand what the hell they’re calling icing these days. Not that it stops him arguing the call when it’s against Detroit though.

The questions and idle remarks about the logic of the game carry Connor through to the second period before he gets bored. He gets up from the sofa and wanders off, only to return a minute later with a small bowl of pretzels that he balances while he shuffles back into his spot against Hank’s side. Hank smiles, knowing Connor would only bring him snacks because he wants something. Connor may be built with an unlimited supply of patience, but it didn’t seem to take, and Hank knows he can wait him out.

He feeds them to Hank, who turns his head only enough to get the pretzel between his teeth, eyes not leaving the screen. They don’t last long, and Connor fiddles with the bowl a little before he puts it on the floor next to the couch. Sumo, who has been watching them from his bed in the corner of the room and whose interest was no doubt piqued when he heard the rustling of the bag earlier, puts his head down again when he realises there’s no food to be had. 

Connor shifts around a bit, rearranging his sweater and trying to find the most comfortable way to lie against Hank. For someone who doesn’t need to move for hours at a time if necessary, he’s worse than a cat on a hot tin roof. Hank doesn’t pay him any attention and the shifting continues, with Connor drawing his knees up so he can rest his feet on the couch cushions.

Movement out of the corner of his eyes draws his interest for a second, as he watches Connor lightly trailing his fingertips up and down the skin of his thighs and playing with the hem of the sweater. He’s still pretending to be interested in the game, face turned towards the screen.

Hank has to pinch his lips around a smile when his fingers drift further down to the line of his underwear, walking his fingers over the hem and dipping underneath every so often. It’s only a matter of time before one of them breaks, and it won’t be Hank.

Since they’d started sleeping together Connor had wanted sex at least once a day, desperate to feel as many new sensations as he could and revel in them, something he never even dreamed of before breaking through his programming. Ever since he’d gotten an upgrade and had genitals installed though he’s turned into a Grade-A slut. Hank could barely keep up with him before, but he has no chance of being able to fuck him every time Connor wants it now, which has led to an interesting collection beginning to build in the bottom drawer of his nightstand.

He’s on his best behaviour tonight; he knows Hockey Time is sacred to Hank, especially during the playoffs, but there’s a limit to his patience when it comes to this. It might be the only thing that Connor is incapable of waiting out.

Hank had told him to do his own thing while he watched the game the first few times Connor had sat with him and made it obvious that it wasn’t for him, but Connor had insisted every time that he’d rather be in Hank’s presence on the couch than be elsewhere in the house. 

Sometimes he’d bring a book or a case file with him to flick through, a meaningless thing since Hank knows he has every file for their open cases downloaded in his CPU and he could find any book online and read it before Hank had even finished reading out the title, but he appreciates the gesture anyway.

Connor finally gives up on trying to stay still before the third period even starts, the anchors still discussing the chances both teams have had and an android providing stats whenever there’s an opportunity. He moves around enough that Hank has to drop the arm he’s had over the top of the couch over Connor’s chest to keeps him still.

It works well enough for a while, but Hank’s fingers are resting on the hem of Connor’s sweater and Connor keeps hitching his hips up, softly at first and then growing more insistent, into them to try and get them to go lower. He allows his fingers to rub lightly over the crotch of Connor’s boxers but withdraws them when he tries to push up harder.

After a few minutes of teasing Hank takes a mouthful of his beer and slips his fingers under the waistband of Connors underwear at the same time, smirking slightly at the sigh of relief from Connor, even though he hasn’t actually touched him properly yet.

He runs his fingers up and down the crease of Connor’s thigh, switching to the other side whenever Connor shifts to try and get Hank where he wants him. He runs them closer and closer but never close enough, no longer bothering to hide the smile at Connor’s frustrated huffs whenever he moves his fingers away. Connor feels warm, and if he hadn’t already known that Connor is more than ready to go, he’d be certain now.

He makes Connor wait until the puck drops at the start of the third before he lets his fingers slip between his folds and run up and down again, pressing lightly over his clit on the upstroke but never enough pressure for Connor’s needs. Hank can already feel the wetness of him. 

Connor’s pussy is truly a thing of beauty. Like the rest of him it’s neat and inviting, indistinguishable from the real thing. It’s even got a thin dusting of hair leading down, a mole just above the line of it off to the right. The only difference is that it flushes blue instead of red, but it’s hardly a surprise after seeing Connor’s cheeks turning blue. For being designed to be as human as possible blushing blue seems to be a bit of an oversight, but Connor had just smiled when he’d questioned it and told him he was a prototype, they couldn’t get everything right on the first try. 

Hank circles his clit, stroking firmly enough for Connor to press back into him to roll his hips up into it and then lighter again, teasing, with Connor chasing his touch. 

Detroit scores again to put them ahead by two goals with nine minutes still left to play and Hank celebrates by slipping two fingers into Connor’s pussy. He’s so wet that there’s almost no resistance, and Connor sighs appreciatively, head falling back against Hank’s shoulder.

He’s become so much more vocal since he’d had CyberLife calibrate his sensors to fully register pleasure stimulus. He could feel pressure and temperature, and with a lot of experimentation they’d managed to find a way for Connor to essentially get off by manipulating some wiring here and there, but this is so much better. The first time Hank had fucked him Connor’s CPU crashed from the sheer rush of data and sensation. Hank had never thought that he’d be able to add fucking an android so good it had to reboot to his list of bedroom achievements but hey, he’s a modern man these days. 

Hank continues to fuck Connor with his fingers, adding another in answer to his whines that were making it hard to follow the commentary properly. He goes slower when it looks like someone might score, attention focused on the screen and not what he’s doing with his hands, and speeds up again when the tension has passed.

Connor’s hands clench around his thigh, then he fists his sweater, then he grabs Hank’s thigh. He can’t quite seem to decide what he wants his hands to do, obviously concentrating more on Hank’s fingers than what his own are doing.

He doesn’t let Connor come. It’s not exactly intentional, but he never gets a steady enough rhythm for Connor to get off. He’s focussed on the game, and every time Connor gets louder something happens on the ice and Hanks attention gets diverted again. Connor groans softly in frustration, pushing back into Hank’s fingers but unable to do much else. 

By the time Toronto pulls their goalie in a last ditch attempt to equalise with two minutes left Connors hips are practically fucking down onto Hank’s fingers. He has one hand gripping at Hank’s bicep where it rests over his chest keeping him still and the other thrown behind him to tangle a fist in the material of Hank’s t-shirt at his neck. 

The clock enters the final minute and Toronto just can’t seem to get the puck out of their own zone. Hank knows they’re not going to win so he pulls his fingers out and circles them around Connors clit again, firm and fast. Connor groans loudly and throws his head back into Hank’s chest. 

The final buzzer sounds and Detroit have won, now leading with two of two games won, but his view of the screen is suddenly blocked by Connor who is climbing onto his lap and rocking down into his thigh without shame, trying to get any friction he can.

He looks at Connors face properly for the first time since the game started and he looks wrecked, or as wrecked as an android can. His eyes are glassy, his LED a bright yellow and spinning rapidly, his cheeks a lovely shade of blue. Hank smiles and leans back into the cushions, hands sliding up Connors legs where they’re bracketing his and resting on his thighs. 

“I need you to fuck me. Now.” Connor says, his cooling system making his chest heave. 

“Well hello to you too,” Hank smirks, making no move to follow Connor’s demand. 

“Please, Lieutenant, you’ve been teasing for so long.” A hint of a whine in his voice, music to Hank’s ears. 

Hank smirks again, smug from the win and a good game and the state he’s managed to get Connor in without much effort. 

“Well, it looks to me like I’ve been doin’ all the work so far and you’ve just been sittin’ there for the ride.” 

Connor lets out what sounds like a little growl of frustration and starts working at Hank’s pants, his fingers not as precise and efficient as usual.

He doesn’t waste any time once he has Hank’s cock out of his pants. He strokes it a few times, making sure he’s fully hard and raises up onto his knees. Connor hooks his fingers into the crotch of his underwear to pull to the side and Hank squeezes his thighs, hard enough to bruise if Connor were human. 

Once he’s lined himself up, Connor sinks down onto Hank’s cock in one smooth motion and lets out a shaky breath, overwhelmed and finally happy that he’s gotten what he wanted. Hank gives him a moment to adjust, glad for the breather himself. Connor always feels fucking amazing, tight as a virgin and so, so wet. Hank’s cock has never had it so good. 

Hank mouths at his neck in the meantime, wishing again that he was capable of leaving bruises. Sometimes Connor will let his skin turn blue where Hank marks him in an effort to please Hank’s primal need to display his territory. He’s seen Connor admiring the marks in the mirror more than once though, so he doesn’t worry that he’s overstepping his boundaries.

Connor rides him, making the most exquisite noises as he sets a brutal pace, no muscles in his thighs to fatigue as he bucks in Hank’s lap chasing his climax. Hank runs his hands up Connor’s thighs onto his hips to spur him on, and then further up onto the curve of his waist, holding him close.

When Connor finally comes he sounds like he’s taken by surprise, crying out, back arching beautifully and his head thrown back in abandon. He rocks himself through it, grinding down into Hank’s lap and twitching with the aftershocks, his LED melting back to yellow from the vivid red of his orgasm. His shoulders and chest are tinged blue, his cooling system still working overtime to keep him from overheating. 

Hank kisses the side of Connor’s head and lifts him off his cock, helping him to stand on shaky legs in order to herd him towards the bedroom. Hank still hasn’t come yet but his back can’t take fucking on the sofa again, they’ve already done it twice this week and he’ll be stiff as a board in the morning if they do it again.

He lies Connor on his side and slides up behind him, pressing himself all along the line of his body, admiring the milk while skin and the beauty of him stretched out like this just for Hank. He runs his hand over the line of his body, following the dip of his waist, the swell of his hip, the curve of his thigh, before he slips his hand slowly over his side and between his legs. 

He slips two fingers back inside Connor and groans at how hot and wet he is, burying his face in the back of Connor’s neck.

Hank reluctantly pulls them out again, wiping them on the inside of Connor’s thigh as he runs his hand down to hook around the back of his knee, pulling his leg up to give himself room to rub his cock into Connor’s pussy, teasing both of them.

Connor keeps his leg in the air when Hank lets go of it to guide himself into Connor, a slow slick slide that feels like heaven.

“Good boy,” he whispers into Connor’s ear. It’s important to reward good behaviour, after all. 

He starts off fucking him nice and slow, making up for his erection flagging a little between the sofa and the bed. He’s not as young as he used to be. 

Hank keeps increasing his rhythm until he’s pounding into Connor, knowing he’ll have to really work to get off with the beers he’s had with dinner and during the game. Maybe Connor’s limit on the booze tonight tonight was a good thing after all.

Connor is whining and has his face half buried in his pillow, muffling the noises. His hands grip at the sheets, looking like he’s holding on for dear life. 

He uses his grip on Connor’s leg to pull him back into his thrusts to make him moan, long and drawn out, and Connor clenches around him every time he pulls out.

Hank litters kisses over every inch of the skin that he can reach on Connor’s shoulders and the back of his neck, occasionally biting down as a wave of pleasure hits him, desperate to finally reach the edge.

It’s not until Connor reaches down and pulls Hank’s hand away from his leg to bring it to his mouth to suck on his fingers, clenching his thighs around Hank’s cock inside him that he finally feels the swooping in his stomach. Warmth spreads through his entire body as he bites down on Connor’s neck and feels Connor coiling his tongue through the gaps of his fingers.

Hank comes inside Connor, clinging tight and rocking deep into him as he fills Connor up. He continues scattering soft bites and kisses over Connor’s shoulders as he pulls out slowly, holding him close when Connor whimpers at the loss. 

After a minute or two when Hank’s caught his breath he feels Connor’s hand tugging at his arm and he allows him to pull it away from his chest and guide it down back to his pussy. He’s obviously close to coming a second time and won’t be denied, not that Hank would leave his boy hanging. Well, sometimes, but he’s in a good mood tonight.

He obliges him, sliding two fingers inside him, breath catching a little at the feeling of his pussy full of Hank’s come, making him even wetter than before. Connor moans loudly and Hank begins to mouth at the lobe of his ear, whispering filth and encouragement in equal measure. He uses the arm still underneath Connor to hold him close and feel him shake.

Hank pushes the come back inside him when it starts to run out around his fingers, adding a third at Connor’s whines for more. He grips Hank’s wrist to keep it still while he fucks himself on them and Hank doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as gorgeous in all his life.

He adds a fourth, and uses his thumb to rub over his clit while he fucks him, curling his fingers to make Connor jerk. He fucks him as hard as he had with his cock and grins when he feels Connor’s grip on his wrist tighten.

“That’s it, give it up, baby, come on,” he breathes, wanting to see Connor come for him again, “do it for me.”

Connor seizes up, his whole body jerking and a high whine escaping him. It sounds more mechanical than Hank is used to from his previous partners but it’s just as hot, just as satisfying to hear it and know that he was responsible for it.

He pulls his fingers out slowly, rubbing over Connor’s pussy with the flat of his fingers a few times, coaxing a weak moan out of him before he lifts them to Connor’s mouth for him to clean. Connor doesn’t eat, has no need for it, but he dutifully cleans Hank’s fingers of his wetness and Hank’s come without hesitation, tongue chasing the taste of it long after it’s gone.

Hank wipes the dampness off on the sheet before he wraps both arms around Connor and pulls him in tight, turning to drop a kiss on his temple through his hair, resting his cheek there for a second before Connor turns into it to kiss him properly, slow and sweet. His movements are slower than usual, his systems likely still working on righting themselves and fixing whatever errors that had popped up in the heat of the moment.

“You should sleep, Hank,” he whispers, blinking softly up at him. Hank can hear the soft sleepy smile on his face. 

Hank hums in agreement and gives Connor another kiss before he settles in behind him to sleep, face tucked into Connor’s neck. 

“‘Night Con,” Hank mumbles, already dropping off.

“Goodnight, Hank.”


End file.
